Work It Harder, Make It Better, Do It Faster
by Cracon
Summary: "What do you think?" - "I think that these are things you could use for keeping a burglar out of our apartment." (Established Faberry)


**Title:** Work It Harder, Make It Better, Do It Faster  
**Author:** cracon  
**Rating:** R / Mature  
**Length:** 5866  
**Characters/Pairings:** Quinn/Rachel  
**Spoilers**: none, I think  
**Summary:** "What do you think?" - "I think that these are things you could use for keeping a burglar out of our apartment." (Established Faberry)  
**A/N:** Had this thought a while ago, and then Sky joined in on the fun. Kinda. Anyway, here it is.  
Title from Daft Punk's "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger" (well done, Angel, well done)

* * *

Quinn has the sneaking suspicion that this will go awry as soon as they set foot into the store. Rachel's eyes light up like the candles on the menorah they use every year for Hanukah at all the colours and shapes that are neatly displayed on the shelves all around the walls.

Why are they even here? It's not like anything is broken or damaged or even got _boring_, for that matter. But then Rachel's words make their way into her brain again.

"Variety, Quinn, is the key to every successful, long-lasting relationship."

Quinn was dubious then and she is dubious now, standing next to a display of various … accoutrements. And the bright smile the saleswoman is flashing in their direction doesn't help ease her nervousness one bit. Oh no, what if she is a Broadway fan and has already identified Rachel? What if she has already taken pictures and uploaded them in a fan forum somewhere? What if life as they know it is over now? Yes, Quinn can see the headline on already in her head.

"Wife of Broadway Darling Rachel Berry has forced her to enter a sex shop to spice up their lacklustre marriage, see our exclusive pictures here"

… Well. They probably wouldn't write that … but one can never be too careful. Rachel's publicist would probably strangle her if that were to happen at one point. Strangle her, then revive her, then strangle her again.

Before Quinn can ponder the thought further, only vaguely keeping an eye on Rachel perusing the shelves and looking like a kid on Christmas day, the girl from behind the counter leaves her place and comes nearer.

"Hello! Can I help with you anything or are you just looking around?"

Predictably Rachel beams at the prospect of getting advise, although it's not like they haven't already read everything there is to know online. Rachel is more a fan of a hands-on experience, that's why they couldn't order it on the shop's website, no matter how much Quinn begged. She has no idea why she even tried, it's not like it ever worked in the past. But back then it had been less anxiety inducing.

"Yes, I believe you can," Rachel says, holding about half a dozen different boxes in her arms. "We've already read various reviews online, of course, but I was wondering if you could tell us the specific perks of each of these."

"Well, you see …"

And that's as far as Quinn can stand to hear, because honestly, she'd rather be anywhere else than in this shop right here, right now. If it were up to her, they would've ordered one of the strap-ons Rachel is currently holding up, or a similar one, online, having a vivid discussion about the pros and cons in front of their laptop and not with a stranger. It'd be delivered in a plain box directly to their apartment with nobody none the wiser as to what the two of them are up to in their spare-time. The thought alone makes Quinn's skin crawl. Ever since Rachel's award winning performance in a revival of Cabaret it feels like they always have eyes on them. She wonders how much a paparazzi shot of them leaving an adult toy store would bring at the agencies. Maybe she should give Rachel's publicist a heads-up, just in case.

"Quinn? I think I narrowed it down to these two, what do you think?"

Quinn's eyes focus again after staring against the wall for so long and she looks at the two products her wife is holding up. Her eyes widen in terror.

"I think that these are things you could use for keeping a burglar out of our apartment."

Rachel frowns at her. "I don't think they're _that_ big."

"Would you excuse us for a second?" Quinn asks the salesclerk through gritted teeth, already turning her wife around by her shoulders and walking away a few steps. "Have you lost your mind? These are huge. Like, 'I'm almost 99% sure they have been moulded from a horse' huge."

"Well, according to the internet—"

Quinn winces. "Contrary to what the internet believes and the porn industry suggests, bigger is not automatically better. At one point it just get's painful. Take it from me, I pushed a kid out of me and was in a car accident, and even I don't want your current selection anywhere near me, that's how I think about their size and the pain that is involved."

Rachel sighs, in the way that Quinn knows means that Rachel knows that her argument is correct, but now she's just putting up a fight because her fun has been thwarted.

"But Quinn, it's a limited Harry Potter edition."

"Yeah, how about no. Nine-and-three-quarters should forever remain a platform and nothing else."

"You are absolutely no fun. I thought the Cheerios' motto was 'No pain no gain'?"

Quinn's eyebrows rise at that. "I have absolutely no idea what Santana told you in the past, but that motto was never supposed to be applied to the bedroom."

"What if I like a little pain with my pleasure?"

"Then I suggest you buy this one for yourself, because I'm certainly not going to use it with you."

"Quinn," Rachel whines. "You are no fun."

"I'm lots of fun," Quinn says, amused by the fact that her wife is still able to pull off "petulant teenager" although they're both way past that age. "You have found out how much fun I am in the last ten years of our relationship. But I would also like to be able to walk. If it's pleasurable pain you want, I'm sure I can come up with something beyond the usual."

"Fine," Rachel sighs, putting the two boxes on a shelf nearby. "Be boring. What is your limit?"

"Seven, and absolutely nothing more, and that's already pushing it."

Rachel huffs but makes her way back to the saleswoman, demanding to be shown the whole range they offer, while Quinn has already tuned her out and tries to mentally map the best escape route from the store without being seen by possible photographers outside.

Being the wife of a Broadway Darling means having a lot of training in stealth and subterfuge.

…

They return to their apartment, and Quinn still deems it a small miracle that nobody has seen them either enter or leave the store (with an inconspicuous plastic bag that Quinn hastily shoved into her purse, to make it even more inconspicuous). Well, at least Rachel's publicist hasn't blown up her phone yet, so that's something, right?

"Do you want some tea?" Quinn asks, already reaching for the cabinet that holds their vast collection. When her wife doesn't answer, she turns around to face her. "Why are you frowning?"

"I'm thinking about a name."

"Oh … kay? Do you need to call someone? Or look them up online or what?"

Rachel shakes her head and steps closer, filling the electric kettle with water.

"I'm thinking about a name for our new toy," she says nonchalantly, not noticing the death grip Quinn suddenly has on the little box of tea filters.

"We are not naming our sex toys," Quinn growls, ripping a filter out of the box and shoving it in the teapot, before forcefully opening the cabinet again and getting a tin box with loose tea out.

"But Quinn," Rachel drawls, stepping nearer. Quinn pays her no mind. "We named our cats and in the near future we'll name our kids. Why shouldn't we name our toys? After all, we're already spending so much time with them," she purrs, letting her index finger slowly glide along her wife's shoulder.

"Okay, wow, there was just so much wrong with that statement," Quinn says, side-eyeing her wife. "First of all, naming inanimate objects and living beings is totally different, and I can't believe you even made that connection to the kid that is currently growing inside of _me_. And secondly, I spend a lot of time in the kitchen and the bedroom and with my laptop, but you don't see me giving them names. Or your breasts, for that matter."

"Well, I certainly didn't mean to be disrespectful," Rachel states, hugging Quinn from behind and resting her head between her shoulder blades, her thumbs drawing small circles on the barely noticeable bump on her wife's stomach. Quinn relaxes in her embrace.

She snorts, because, yes, that's just how Rachel is. She doesn't _mean_ to be disrespectful on purpose, or put her foot in her mouth as often as she does, but it's just what happens most of the time. She loves her anyway.

"But think about it," Rachel lowly murmurs into her right ear, making Quinn's skin break out in goose bumps at the seductive quality her voice had taken on. "It could intensify the emotional experience a lot if we named it." One hand sneakily glides downwards to the button of Quinn's jeans. "Think about how much fun we could have with Fiyero—"

Rachel winces at the strong grip that is suddenly on her wrist and then Quinn steps out of the embrace.

"If we were to name it, it certainly wouldn't be the names of musical characters. Or ex-sex partners," she adds, just to be safe. "But we're not going to name it, so this discussion is a waste of my time." She reaches for the kettle and pours the hot water in the teapot, watching the water slowly darken. She knows that there's a 98% chance that Rachel is pouting behind her, but seriously. This is getting absolutely ridiculous. Who names their sex toys, _seriously_. She always knew that Rachel was a little crazy, everybody is, but this is just really taking the cake.

"What if I can change your mind?" Rachel asks, stepping away to get two mugs.

"I seriously doubt it, but if it makes you happy, I won't stop you from trying. I'm just saying right now that it won't happen."

Rachel smiles, confident in her abilities to persuade her wife. "Challenge accepted. You'll see, I make some very compelling arguments."

"Of course you do," Quinn placates her. "That was part of the reason we went to the store in the first place and couldn't order it online. But getting a new toy in a store is completely different from _naming it_."

Rachel hums when Quinn is taking out the tea filter and putting it in the sink and then puts the tea on a tea warmer on the kitchen table after she filled the mugs.

"I'll change your mind."

"Can't wait," Quinn deadpans.

"I'm serious."

"Of course you are."

"You are so full of yourself."

"Only when I know I'm right, and that just happens to be most of the time," Quinn says, one eyebrow rising while she sips on her tea.

"Just know that I'll be forever mining it when I win this thing."

"I'm not expecting anything less from you, _if_ that were to happen."

"Quinn Berry-Fabray, you are the most insufferable person I've ever met."

"It's Fabray-Berry. But I'm also a lot more than that and that's why you love me, right?" She says with a wink.

Rachel sighs. Because, yes. Unfortunately she does.

…

"Okay, how about 'Mr. Purple'?"

Quinn lowers her book down to stare at her wife lying next to her on the bed that same evening.

"Really, this is the best you can come up with?"

Rachel huffs. "Don't rush me, I'm just starting."

"In that case, no," Quinn says, getting back to her book and readjusts her glasses. "It's ridiculous and not very imaginative, if you ask me."

"Mr. Big?" Rachel smirks.

"I think I watched too many _Sex and the City_ re-runs for that."

An irritated sigh leaves her wife's lips and Quinn smirks behind her book. If that is the best Rachel can come up with then there isn't a snowball's chance in hell that Rachel will win this little thing they have going on. Rustling next to her reaches her ears and Quinn looks over just as Rachel is getting out of bed.

"Where are you going?"

"I think that I'm going to clean our newest addition. I have a feeling that good ideas will come to me much better and quicker in a hands-on approach."

"Wow, Berry. Foreplay: 0/10. Would not recommend."

"You're lucky I love you," Rachel frowns at her before she moves to the door, inconspicuous plastic bag in hand.

"Right back at ya."

Rachel opens the bedroom door and one of their cats uses the opportunity to slip inside while Quinn hears Rachel walking down the hallway to the kitchen. Then there's a minute where she is apparently singing along to her cleaning process and entertaining their other cat. (_"Come my little friends as we all sing a happy little working song …"_ … she is going to kill Rachel for pulling one of her favourite movies into this.) There's some silence afterwards, which Quinn totally doesn't time because she is reading her book and petting Isis, who is now lying on her stomach, quietly purring away. Then she hears Rachel making her way back to the bedroom.

"All right, I'm ready for my close-up."

Quinn peeks over her book at a now naked Rachel standing in the doorway in a Wonder Woman pose, the purple toy almost jutting out proudly in front of her from between her legs. Quinn sighs, like sex with her wife is a chore she'd rather avoid, and sets her book on the nightstand, bookmark in place, and puts a protesting Isis on the ground. The cat gives her a deprecating stare before making its way to Rachel, hoping to get some attention from her.

"Let's get this over with then," Quinn says as she settles down on the bed, her limbs spread eagle.

"Wow, way to make a girl feel special," Rachel retorts, making her way on the bed after she shooed Isis out of the bedroom and closed the door again, the cat meowing in protest just on the other side of the wood.

"Says the one who only wants to have sex to think of sex toy names."

Rachel grins cheekily, kneeling between Quinn's legs and pulling her nearer by her knees, making Quinn's tank top ride up and then leans over her, the strap-on resting on Quinn's lower stomach and the buckles of the straps pressing against Quinn's inner thighs, making her jump a bit at the coolness. "Aren't you glad you married me?" She grins, gently pulling Quinn's glasses from her face.

"Yep."

Suffice it to say that they didn't get a lot of name searching done that night.

…

"I think I know what the problem is," Rachel says roughly a week later after all of her tries have come to no fruition.

Quinn groans and shoves her head under her pillow, enjoying the short time she has left in the pregnancy in which she is still able to lie on her stomach. "It's Monday. It's my day off that I explicitly scheduled and fought a lot for so that we can spend time together in your busy rehearsal and show schedule and late nights. But I didn't mean for it to start at—" She barely lifts the pillow enough to look at the clock on the nightstand. "7AM. You're crazy. I'm going back to sleep." She says, her voice rough from both her sleepiness and her pillow slowly suffocating her.

The bed dips a bit and a few seconds later she can feel Rachel half-lying on her back, the pillow lifting up and her head getting under it so that her chin is resting comfortably on Quinn's shoulder.

"How can you even breathe under here?"

"It worked just fine before you came here and used up all my oxygen."

"You vowed to share everything with me at our wedding."

"I take it back, I want to keep my oxygen for myself."

"Nope." Quinn can feel Rachel's big smile against her cheek.

Quinn sighs and then uses her hand that isn't currently pinned down by her wife to fling the pillow away, her short blonde hair sticking up in all directions.

"Okay, spit it out, what is your idea," she mumbles against the sheets.

"Well," Rachel begins cheerily, and even after all these years together Quinn is still disgusted by what a morning person she is. "I think I have been going at it from the completely wrong angle."

"Uhuh." Rachel's weight feels nice and the warmth her body is radiating is quickly lulling Quinn back to sleep. It's not like she wants to listen to this crazy talk in the first place.

"And I think that—Quinn, are you still listening?"

Quinn hums sleepily, but is instantly woken up again when Rachel pinches her side lightly. "I'm awake, I'm awake," she squeaks, twisting underneath her wife because she knows that there is a high chance that Rachel will resort to tickling next if she doesn't move.

Quinn squirms and rolls on her back and Rachel lifts up enough while she does it so that she lies back up on her front again. Quinn felt sleepy before, but now an almost naked Rachel, except for a barely there negligee and panties, pressing against her serves as enough distraction to stay awake. She may develop a slight attention problem, though. Oh god, who wears that as a normal day-to-day sleepwear attire?

"As I was saying," Rachel begins again, resting her chin on both of her hands lying on Quinn's sternum, seemingly unaffected by their bodies pressing against each other in all the right places. Quinn doesn't know if she should feel jealous or insulted about that. "I think that I was going at this from the wrong angle, because I mainly thought of names that I thought were great because I was wearing it and they suited me."

"And now you decided that this whole thing is stupid and accepted the fact that I won't be endorsing naming our sex toys?" Quinn laughed for about five minutes when Rachel suggested the name 'Love Machine' and 'Baby Maker,' accompanied with hip thrusts and arm movements and all.

"No," Rachel drawls, nipping at the underside of Quinn's jaw in an attempt to persuade her. "My focus just shifted to finding names that'll suit _you_ while _you're_ wearing it. And I'm certain that I'll find a name that both pleases you and your personality," she purrs, one hand already down on Quinn's breast and flicking over the nipple.

"I'm not gonna wear it," Quinn says, her voice strained while she's trying not to let Rachel's ministrations distract her too much.

"Why not?"

"While I know that being on the receiving end doesn't impair our child, thanks to that mortifying talk you and my gynaecologist had, I'm not quite so sure when it comes to being on the giving end."

"You're worried about the straps potentially hurting the baby?"

"Amongst other things."

"Aren't you glad you married me?" Rachel grins wolfishly down at her.

Quinn's eyebrows rise on their own accord. "What for now?"

"I know you barely looked when I bought our new friend, but it can also be worn without the harness, that's what ultimately swayed my decision to buy this one."

Quinn looks at her in confusion about how that is supposed to work, until Rachel mimes an L like shape with her fingers. It takes a moment for the gesture to be interpreted by her brain.

"_Oh._ How come I didn't notice that before?"

"I would like to believe that I kept you occupied enough."

…

It looks and feels a lot different than a normal strap-on, that much she is immediately sure of. The lack of straps from a harness is certainly welcomed, because they are always a hassle to fasten and leave angry marks on her skin, and they only kept the 'classic' approach because the underwear-like alternatives didn't end in the same satisfying results for them.

At the same time it feels like she should've taken those Kegel exercises Rachel ranted about a year ago more seriously.

The shorter bulb slips into her relatively easily with the aid of some lube and Quinn looks down herself at the protruding purple dildo. Yeah, it may look vaguely the same as a normal strap-on, but it really isn't, especially not as soon as she takes a step out of the en-suite bathroom and her breath hitches at the unfamiliar movement inside of her. How exactly did Rachel do this without having any problems whatsoever in the last week? She refuses to believe that her wife is a Sex Toy Wizard with natural aptitude.

"You ready?" Rachel purrs, and Quinn isn't surprised when she sees her wife stretched out naked on their bed, all tan skin, smooth curves and still sleep-tousled brown hair, already looking like the cat that got the cream.

"I think so," Quinn says, acutely aware of every step and every shift of her muscles she makes the closer she gets to her wife. "I'm not completely sure if it's going to stay in place the whole time, though." Rachel stares at her, waiting for her to elaborate. "It just doesn't feel as secure as one attached to a harness is all."

She comes to a stop in front of Rachel who hums and swings her legs over the edge of the bed, pulling Quinn nearer by her hips, the toy awkwardly bobbing up and down between them.

"We'll keep it slow," she says, leaning over it to softly kiss the valley between Quinn's breasts, before moving downwards and kissing her abdomen, paying special attention to where their child is resting and growing for now, and nips at the still visible grooves and dips of Quinn's abs. When she makes her way down to the dildo and pretty much kisses the base of it, Quinn pushes her head away. "What?"

"You know that this doesn't do anything for me, for both of us, so why bother?"

"Yeah, in the past," Rachel drawls, one hand reaching up to lightly tug at the toy and curving it upwards, making Quinn gasp at the sensations the simple movement sends through her body. "But this one is directly attached to you, in you. Think of it as an extension of your body."

Quinn finds enough humour in that sentence to guffaw, covering her face with her hands. "Oh god, I remember my sixth grade gym teacher telling me that when she tried to teach us badminton and everybody just flailed the bats around."

When Rachel doesn't immediately answer she looks down and shivers at the sight of her wife already working her way down the toy. It's not like she can feel whatever she is doing with her mouth directly, but the movements of Rachel's hand and her almost exaggerated moaning and humming around it makes it certainly a whole lot more pleasurable than it has been in the past with a conventional strap-on and almost … real. A particular hard tug and push makes Quinn almost cross her legs to relieve some pressure, which only makes the whole thing worse.

"Okay," she breathes out, pulling Rachel's head away with a little difficulty when she feels her legs tremble because of Rachel's hand keeping up its up and down motion, twisting every now and then. "I think I need to lie down for this."

Rachel smirks and pulls her on the bed, her hand still firmly attached to the toy. They kiss slow and unhurriedly when Quinn is finally lying in the middle of the bed, Rachel only relenting her ministrations when she moves to straddle Quinn's stomach carefully, her hands finding Quinn's breasts instead.

"Wait, why am I on the bottom?" She finally asks slightly out of breath.

"Gravity will help to keep everything in place," Rachel says, sucking on the skin just underneath Quinn's jaw, gently caressing both nipples with her fingers.

"Now I feel old. I never needed gravity's help to have sex before."

"You're not old. It's just different than a toy you're used to, so we'll start off easy."

Quinn grunts in acquiescence and tries to ignore Rachel grinding cautiously against her stomach, desperate to help her own release along while not putting too much pressure on her, but it's only resulting in making it worse for Quinn when she moves against the toy every so often. It makes it bend backwards and the part inside of her curve up and press against her in the most delicious—

"Okay, no, that's—Come up here," she quickly gets out, grabbing Rachel by the underside of her thighs and hoisting her upwards, her mouth almost immediately attaching to her clit as soon as she is near enough. One of Rachel's hands has a vise-like grip on Quinn's short hair while the other is desperately trying to keep a hold on the headboard of the bed, her bucking being somewhat kept at bay by Quinn's hands holding her hips.

It doesn't take a long time for Rachel to come, because if there is one thing Quinn has mastered over the years, it's how to play Rachel like a fiddle; how to either get her off in a matter of minutes or how to tease her for a whole night if that is what she's in the mood for. There's a sharp intake of breath above Quinn and she opens her eyes, looking past a plane stomach and lush breasts, just in time to see when Rachel's climax washes over her, resulting in a silent cry and her head being thrown back. She completely flops backwards afterwards, almost like she's boneless, her head resting on Quinn's bent legs as she's trying to catch her breath.

Quinn's smug smirk goes unseen by Rachel, but she must know it's there. It's almost _always_ there after she brings Rachel to orgasm, and it's not a habit she intends on breaking. She keeps on massaging Rachel's thighs, her legs still bent next to Quinn's head and her muscles twitching visibly, occasionally delivering a nip to the soft flesh.

"Good?" Quinn purrs, and giggles when Rachel only responds with a thumbs up.

A short while later Quinn marvels at her wife's exercise regiment when she almost effortlessly sits up again and scoots backwards on her knees, before she leans forward again and kisses her with so much passion that it makes Quinn stretch her legs out again, the sheer force of the kiss taking her by surprise.

"Ready?" She murmurs against her lips and Quinn nods.

"As I'll ever be."

She helps guiding the still slightly wet toy into Rachel and watches her face when she slowly descends on it, her breathing visibly picking up again and her eyebrows drawn together at the unfamiliar intrusion.

One perk, Quinn discovers, is that there is absolutely nothing separating her from Rachel's hot flesh resting against her own, no leather to dull the sensation. Just her and the woman she loves being connected in a new, intimate way that feels surprisingly realistic. She gently massages Rachel's thighs, trying to help her relax around the dildo.

(Well, it's not like she didn't warn Rachel that bigger isn't always better … and a little over six inches is still a lot to take in. But her wife never listened to her in their eight years of marriage or in the time before that—at least when it came to trivial things—and Quinn can barely restrain herself from telling her 'I told you so'.)

Quinn inhales sharply when Rachel begins riding her, because there is just that pull inside her whenever she moves up that—

"_Oh,_" she breathes out, barely able to contribute anything due to the pace of her wife picking up and that little rotating motion she adds every time her hips twist down and how she is brushing against her clit with that and—

She comes rather unexpectedly, digging her fingers into the soft flesh of Rachel's thighs to keep her still, only releasing an out of breath moan. It certainly wasn't the strongest orgasm she ever had, but it surely took her completely by surprise.

When she opens her eyes again, her wife is smirking down at her mischievously. "Having a little early arrival problem there, honey?" She teases, although her flushed skin and her sweaty locks of hair betray how much she is being affected by this herself, as she grinds against Quinn in small circles; almost innocently. (Although what they're doing is anything but.)

Well, if Quinn is one thing then it is competitive, so it really shouldn't have surprised Rachel when Quinn locks her knees and bends up her legs behind her, grabs her hips and pushes up roughly, making Rachel topple forward in surprise, one arm stretched out and placed next to her wife's head for support.

"Did I hit a nerve there?" Rachel smirks, getting quickly back into the rhythm that is now being set by Quinn, pushing down against her every time when Quinn moves upwards and using her free hand to play with her own breasts.

Quinn glares up at her and grits her teeth, because that comment hit a lot of nerves about a person she'd rather not think about right now, or ever, and any comparisons to them are complete and utter bullshit and totally unwarranted when it comes to her sexual prowess.

She pulls Rachel's head down with one hand, the other still somewhat guiding her hips, and kisses her fiercely, pulling at Rachel's bottom lip with her teeth before moving back in. Lest she say something she might regret afterwards. Fifteen years of not talking about them and still the slightest allusion to them makes her blood boil.

Quinn only vaguely notices Rachel's hand sliding further down the sheets to rest on her elbow, but she certainly notices their bodies pressing together now from head to … well, although her wife is still careful about the slight bump; Rachel's free hand near her head now grabbing her hair and pulling her head to the side so that Rachel can nip and suck at her neck while her other one manages to get under Quinn's back, surely leaving some scratch marks on it in its wake.

"I have to be at a meeting tomorrow," Quinn half-heartedly warns when Rachel's sucking intensifies, but in all honesty she couldn't care less at this moment, with the toy pulling inside her in the most wonferful way and her wife's body all over her.

"That's why make-up was invented," Rachel says, sucking at the flesh where Quinn's pulse is visibly hammering away underneath her skin.

Rachel is right, of course, so Quinn focuses on bringing them both to their release instead. (Or, well, she's just going to focus more on that instead of making up flimsy arguments why her wife shouldn't leave a hickey wherever she chooses.) She grabs the undersides of her thighs and tries to help her move against her even more efficiently, made easier by the slight sheen of sweat coating both of their bodies.

"You know what would be great?" Rachel asks out of breath against Quinn's neck.

"On it," Quinn mumbles against her cheek, one hand gliding between them. Rachel's back arching up makes it less cramped when Quinn finds her clit, rubbing around it in the way that she knows Rachel loves. She's hurtling towards her own second orgasm in a relatively short time, and she'd be a little embarrassed by how trigger-happy this new toy seems to make her, if she had one inch left in her that would actively care about stuff like that. But she doesn't have one. She's instead left wondering if this is how half of the world's population feels, a little too eager and quick in terms of getting off.

She can see Rachel biting her bottom lip out of the corner of her eye, before her whole body goes taut and she only slams down a few times more, whimpering her release in the crook of Quinn's neck. It's enough for Quinn to come herself, seeing her wife climaxing and the vibrations sent through the toy serving as the final push she needed before she bites down on where Rachel's neck meets her shoulder. (Maybe as an act of retaliation, maybe because she knows that Rachel absolutely loves it.)

They have enough coordination left to roll onto their sides, if only so that there isn't any unnecessary pressure on the bump when Rachel inevitably goes limp.

"Well," Quinn gets out while trying to catch her breath. "That was certainly a lot of fun."

Rachel agrees with a hum, helping Quinn to get her hair out of her face. She then grabs Quinn's chin with a very serious look on her face. "Quinnis."

Dark-blonde eyebrows draw up in confusion. "I'm what?"

"No, not 'Quinn is,' Quinnis," she says again, rolling her hips for emphasis and making them both gasp at the ripples the movements sends through their bodies. "As a name."

Quinn frowns. "But, what—"

"An amalgamation from Quinn and penis to accurately describe the new extension of yourself. Just roll with it."

Quinn huffs, because _of course_ Rachel would ruin her afterglow with this stupid name thing.

"Okay, but only because it put me in a really nice mood." She sighs, because it certainly was a whole new experience in itself and she has definitely come to love it in the past hour. She might just keep it all for herself and only let Rachel wear the other ones.

Rachel's eyebrows rise on her forehead in disbelief. "Like it did that all by itself? Fine, I'm going to go read a book in the living room and you can find out why most men find that a hand is not an adequate replacement for a sex partner."

When Rachel makes a move to disconnect them and get out of bed, Quinn quickly rolls them over and pins her down with her hips between Rachel's thighs.

"I think we should use it a bit more, you know, so that I can have some fun until my stomach swells up to the size of a beach ball and I'm not able to do anything at all and before the stressful job of parenthood sets in."

"You mean you want to practice a bit more, so that you don't get off too fast again," Rachel smirks, earning her a glare from her wife. "It's okay, Quinn, that actually happens to a lot of people, even at your age."

The look Quinn is giving her sends a shiver down her spine, because it says so many things. It says that it's a thing that certainly doesn't happen to Quinn Fabray-Berry, that her age is not a topic that will be touched in this discussion, that Quinn Fabray-Berry is going to make gravity her bitch, and that they'll be working on it all day long so that it will never ever happen again, starting tomorrow.


End file.
